Deterioration
by celeskid
Summary: "I always knew the odds were against me, but I never believed things would go this far..." Torture/Noncon fic. Kaishin. Please review!


Hey guys, first off consider this a Halloween treat/formal apology for not updating Crawling in forever. This is a project I've been working on for a while now to test my writing skills. Since I have new project ideas now though and skills I want to improve, I've decided to post this and move on. I may add some additional edits after this is posted but they won't be anything significant. I'm participating in NaNo but I'll do my best to post a new chapter of Crawling. My username is adumbralwolf by the way if anyone wants to come find me.

One of the KID's on tumblr posted: I DARE YOU TO BREAK MY MUSE. **Nothing** is off limits. Give it your best shot, anon or not. Anyways I thought I'd give them the courtesy of not permanently destroying their muse and so I wrote this instead.

For this especially, constructive criticism is highly appreciated. What worked, what didn't, what you suggest I change, what I should improve on, what you really liked about it, etc. Please please please.

* * *

Warnings: Torture and Rape; Permanently broken Kaito; Bittersweet ending

Disclaimer: I do not own Detective Conan or Magic Kaitou

* * *

Deterioration

Day one. It's been twenty four hours since the 45s were pressed to Aoko's head and mine, and I'd been forced to submit. Darkness covers the stone prison for the first several hours, and I scoff – as if my ally is supposed to unsettle me. The futile shackles lay behind me as I flick an ace between my fingers. The metal door swings open, the card disappearing in a poof of smoke as a woman and two men enter my dwelling. They sneer at me, explaining the reason for my imprisonment: my punishment. I glare, daring them to do their worst, and they laugh. My white coat is unbuttoned, tie cast aside, and blue shirt tugged up, exposing my pale, semi-bullet-scarred skin. Nine thin, leather claws slash through the stuffy air, splitting my flesh. It hurts, but I shrug it off, gritting my teeth and smirking, noiseless as the whip carves bleeding, raw stripes into my back.

Thirty eight hours. I am now adorned in cuts, burns, and lashes. My muscles are stiff, and my head pounds to my disgruntlement. They seem to find my silence amusing, making a snide comment about how rich it will be to hear my screams and my pleas. I snort at that. As if that'd ever happen. As if they could keep me here this long. Aki would deliver my message to Jii – or, if worse came to worse, the detectives. Besides, they couldn't trap me. I've already slipped the chains a dozen times, to their frustration. The organization's tormentors are fools. It was merely a matter of time before they made a mistake, and I would slip out. I grin. I would disguise myself as their putrid selves, and skip free of this wretched torture dungeon.

By the third day, the hunger is starting to get to me. I've been tentatively sipping at the meager cup of water they granted. Rainwater drips from the cracks in the ceiling, echoing melodically throughout the cement chamber: I must not be too far from the surface – a droplet taps my forehead. The metal chains are clunky; they chafe my wrists and ankles, suffocate my limbs, and produce the most obnoxious clanging with the slightest movement. Near the end of day two, a scantily clad woman with lengthy, lush, onyx hair and heels pointed enough to piece through flesh warned me if I'm caught out of the cuffs one more time, she's staking a nail through my joints to keep me in place. I scoff at that, but dare not disobey. The welts itch, and it's hard to scratch them in my restraints.

It's the fifth day. A woman storms in, tossing an alabaster and andesine object in my direction. The hard, fluffed corpse smacks me in the head, smearing vermillion onto my face before plopping into my lap. I stare at my bird in disbelief before looking at the tormentor with sheer horror. "That's yours right?" the woman sneers. "Found it caught in a trap. It made quite the plaything. You'll end up just like it." She strides forward, some sort of medieval torture instrument in hand, jerking my shoulder towards her. She presses the serrated edge to my shoulder blade, shredding the flesh, carving to the bone. I scream. My hand falls limply to the dank, stained concrete. Through the pure agony, my teary vision fixates on Aki's crippled wings. They clipped my wings too.

It's been a week. My vision and mind are fuzzy. A blonde, dimpled girl thought it'd be amusing to etch a wing design into my back. She'd made sure to show me in a mirror. She's not a good artist. I've quit toying with my stage props. They're dysfunctional anyways. My right hand is curled into a deformed claw, the index and middle fingers extended. My desire to escape my prison has all but vanished. I know that is their intention. That this is "punishment" for my weak escape attempt. I don't care. They ask me if I'm defeated. In spite of everything, I tell them never. They respond with the best part comes soon. I ask for me or them. They tell me they might let me enjoy it – if I'm good. I feel I should know what that means. I don't.

Over a week now, I'm not sure the exact number. My nails are scattered among grime, and beads of blood collect atop the exposed nail beds. I bite my cheek and close my eyes. I count. How many do they plan to tear out? Five, ten, all twenty? Another is ripped from my finger. I can't keep from screaming.

It burns. I swear I can see the electric blue sparks prancing upon my skin, performing sophisticated twirls and curtsying to one another. They glide, and each practiced step leaves a charred imprint. I hear the click click of the dial – another notch. It seems eerily silent. I think I've lost my voice.

I'm alone for now. The last thing I remember is brass out of the corner of my eye. The monocle is still on. My hat is gone. My hair is matted carnelian. I don't know how that happened. There is an inflamed agony in my lower ribs. I know they are pulverized.

I know what they meant now. Half a dozen men enter my prison, reaching toward me with grubby, greasy, greedy fingers, ripping my blood-stained clothes from my body, touching, kissing, licking, fondling my lips, neck, sides, back, legs, thighs, hips, leaving marks and bruises and bleeding bites: _we'll make you feel good_, I whine because it does, and I don't want it to, moaning deeply – _slut, whore, virgin, slut_ – the terms swim among heated pleasure and embed themselves into my subconscious; my vision whites. _Good_, someone purrs; they spread my legs, thrusting into me at an unbearable pace – I howl and thrash, blood streams down my legs, _slap, slap, slap_, the others continue touching, touching me EVERYWHERE, I don't even know what's pain and pleasure anymore – I hate it! I hate it! I hate it! – I hear them sneer, hear them say how I'm the perfect fuck toy because I'm young and innocent and cocky and who wouldn't want to rape the Kaitou KID when he's only seventeen. My desperate gasping surpasses hyperventilation; the _slap slap slap _continues: my vision fades to black.

My detectives swoop in and save me. They take me away. I am pathetic. A damsel in distress. I'm on the roof edge. KID's cape billows in the wind except it is red. I look again, and my entire suit is red. My father is on the roof. He shakes his head. _Don't_. I look at him. My vision's blurred. I'm crying. I lean back. Gravity seizes me. I employ the glider but the wings are shredded and flutter uselessly through the wind. I already knew this. My eyes open. Leather straps wrap around my chest, waist, thighs. I am completely bound: the paralysis and my weakness makes it impossible to escape. One of the men is sucking me off, sneering as he realizes I'm conscious. He pushes a finger into me, and I moan pathetically. "Stop! Stop please! I don't want it! I don't want to! Ple-ase…" He pushes another finger in. I wail.

This is all they do now. I'm used to it. The way they use me. I don't care. The delicate touches shift to bruising grips. I feel cold – a lukewarm substance streams down my thighs. White and red. The image makes me vomit. Bile and saliva dribble down my chin. I hear them laugh. My head is tilted up; a hardened appendage is shoved into my mouth. Bitter fluid drips onto my tongue. It's disgusting. A degrading comment – more laughing. I feel lightheaded. My throat hurts. My body hurts. The edges of my vision blacken. The squelching sound persists.

I've lost sense of time. Aki, my sweet dove, lays beside me: maggots infest her flesh, squirming along the exposed muscle and burrowing into her heart. I stare at her blankly. She and I have the same smell – of rot and disease and decay: We ooze the same crimson. The noxious scent suffocates the room, and I am suffocated by its source. I can barely breathe. My chest heaves up and down, my dry, cracked tongue lolls out of my mouth – I am some mangy mutt. The dog – kicked, beaten, starved. Bodily fluids splatter my concrete tomb. Memories embed themselves into my prison – being shoved against the wall, pinned to the floor, completely bound, utterly helpless. My body shakes, the tears stream. It's even harder to breathe.

Everything… is always… white and red. My suit and my blood. My dove and her blood. Semen and blood. Crimson coats me and my grave. Red. My vision as they thrust into me. White. Heat and pain and ecstasy. White, red, white. The colors clash, and they mix. I finger paint with them. A cocky thief grins at me. It is my signature.

I can't move anymore. Pain shoots through my body… with the slightest… twitch. My vision… is clouded. I am dying. I can't remember… why?

Footsteps. They're faint. I shift. It hurts. A name. "_KID!_" "_KID!_" Panicked. My eyes close. It's nothing. An illusion. Something shakes me. I open them. "_Kaito!_" My name? I look up. Blue. "_Tan-tan…?_" I stutter. My throat hurts. _It's not real_. I hurt. I'm lifted. It hurts. "No," I whine. Clearer. I hear it. Someone hugs me. That hurts too. But somehow. It's comforting. "_It's okay. You're safe._" I whimper. It isn't true. "_Please believe me._" I open my eyes. "_Shinichi…_" He nods. I'm light. Weightless. I feel myself carried away. Is it over? Or just a dream? I don't know.

Devices wrap around my body. I cry out. "_Shh,_" someone coos. I feel sick and it hurts and I just want it to end. "_I know_." Meitantei responds. I said that out loud? He nods. My head hurts. I cry. Arms wrap around me. Gentle, strong, reassuring. I lean into the embrace.

I open my eyes. Shinichi tells me I'm in the hospital. It's been a week. Kaa-san is beside me, stroking my hair. It's nice. Aoko is next to me too. She looks a mixture of furious and distressed. I smile numbly at her.

It's been over two weeks since I was found, or, as Hakuba informed me, "15 days, 23 hours, 16 minutes, and 47 seconds." I tried to get up yesterday – I've been told I'll need to undergo a lot of physical therapy, but I wanted to see if I could stand on my own. I would have bruised my body and shattered my bones had the nurse not caught me. Along with that, they want me to see a psychiatrist. I'm not surprised, but I don't really want to.

Aoko seems to have forgiven me. She wants me to explain, but she told me to get better first. I can't really do that… but I agreed anyways. I'm a bit physically stronger now, and I've taken to the roof at night. The first time I went up there, the detectives fell atop one another, shouting my name. I think they were afraid I'd jump. But I just didn't want to sleep. Didn't want to dream.

I'm back at home now. I haven't left my room much at all this past month. I explained to Aoko and Nakamori-san why I became KID. I know they want to call me stupid. I want to say it was worth it. Maybe that's the wrong phrasing. I feel things a lot of the time. Sensations. The therapist says to let them happen, but remember it's over. I feel sick a lot of the time. Shinichi and Hakuba come by a lot. They're really worried. It's nice, I guess. I don't have to explain myself to them.

The detectives get me out of the house. They take me to the park, and I lay against the trees, watching the sunlight streaming through the flowers while the detectives play soccer. They ask me to join, but much of the damage is permanent, and it hurts to move that much. I tell them so, and they quiet. I know they don't know what to do. That they're trying to get me interested in life again. I just want to sleep.

Blood is streaming down my thighs. My back collides with concrete as one man pins my legs and another my wrists. I thrash, I scream, I cry. "KID! KID!" I blink. Pinks and oranges streak the sky. Hakuba is clutching his temple; it's bulging and black. My vision's blurred. "Kaito!" Shinichi's voice draws my attention. His hands are clamped around my wrists to a bruising degree. A scratch stretches across his eye, his eye bloodshot and swelled shut. Blood is dripping from the fingernails they left me. Realization strikes me, and I tear away, gripping my body. What had happened? We'd been walking back from dinner and… and… I start screaming. "I don't know! I don't know! I don't know!" They are taken aback. I wipe the tears from my eyes and flee.

"Kaito! Shin-chan is here to see you again!" I press my back against the door in the dark room, pulling my knees closer to my chest. "I don't want to see him," I reply. This has been going on for a while now. They come by more than once a day, but I can't face them. I watch the moonlight stream through my window. _Shin-chan… eh?_ When did we meet? How did we meet? Did our rivalry ever mean anything? It's all a blur. Even my memories as KID seem distant: how fun our games were; it's all meaningless. It was never a game to begin with.

My fingers brush the engraving. I sit crisscross, the moonstone I'd dug up moments ago vanishing and reappearing in the palm of my hand. I'd retrieved Pandora prior to the heist, easily swapping in a fake. I hadn't realized they'd discovered my identity, and intended to use Aoko against me. Never really believed things would go this far, even though I knew the odds were against me. "I'm sorry," I mutter, placing my forehead against damp soil. "I know this wasn't what you wanted, but it was what I wanted. Please forgive me."

"So this is what you were after," a quiet voice comments. I turn around, aware of the tears streaming down my cheeks. Shinichi sighs, settling beside me and taking the gem. "Or…" he murmurs, glancing at the grave and then into my reddened eyes. "Perhaps you never got what you really wanted." I glance away: shame, fear, anger, frustration.

"Are you going to tell me it wasn't worth it?" I murmur.

"Revenge? Yes." I turn away. _Tch._ "But this was my case too. You lost a lot more than me from the start, and took bigger risks than I ever did. You brought them down in your own way." His fist squeezes the jewel, his lips forming into a snarl. "But I won't say this is worth your dreams and your sanity. Not to me."

I'm silent, gaping. "Shinichi…" Then I turn away and shrug. "It doesn't matter." I'm startled as he grabs me, a strange intensity kindling in his eyes.

"It matters TO ME. I don't EVER want to see you hurt, and I'll never let it happen again. Kaito, I-I love you." I stare, wide-eyed, open-mouthed, red faced. Then I glance away, clenching my fists. After all, I'm just a broken record replaying the same events over and over again. Crippled in every way. Unworthy.

"I know. I'm sorry," I mutter.

"Don't apologize."

"I can never be yours." The images, sensations, experiences are ingrained.

"I don't want to own you," he responds with alarm. His voice softens. "I want to be there for you. For anything and everything."

"I-I…" Before I know it, I've flung myself onto my tantei, clutching at his shirt, sobbing.

"I love you too," I whimper, curling against him. "Meitantei – Shi-Shinichi." He seems startled but lets me stay by him. Near him. With him.

Spring break is over, and school is starting soon. It's our last year of high school. Shinichi transferred to Ekoda so he could walk with me every day. I'm quiet in class. It's strange, and everyone knows something happened but no one dares ask what. They can see my hand, after all. Flowers bloom all around us, but winter frost nips at my toes as Shinichi and I walk to my house. I lean against him and he grips my waist and I feel this overwhelming sense of security as if nothing but him will ever touch me again.

We reach my house. Kaa-san is out, and we pile in front of the TV in a bundle of fuzzy blankets with a bucket of chocolate ice cream, watching children's movies long past sunset. "I love you, Kaito," Shinichi murmurs as he drifts to sleep against my shoulder. I smile at him, with a genuine happiness I haven't felt in a long time, long before I was captured, perhaps even before I became KID. I smile at him, and snuggle closer.

* * *

Please review!


End file.
